


Human Magic

by GloriaMundi



Category: Hurog - Briggs
Genre: Dragons, Fantasy, Gift Fic, Multi, POV First Person, Threesome, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-01
Updated: 2006-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:57:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ward's been dreaming a lot, lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elsandry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsandry/gifts).



I could feel it like a torn muscle, like a missing tooth, as I forced myself to wake. The dream had been bad enough, but it had only been a dream. The hollowness I felt was real.

"What is it?" mumbled Tisala sleepily, pushing her face against my shoulder.

"I don't know," I said. Then, because I don't like to lie to the people I love, "Oreg."

"Oreg?" repeated Tisala, sounding much more awake. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," I said. "Yet."

It was early morning, not an hour past dawn but already hot and sunny. The farmers were saying it would be a good summer. Last winter had been hard, but spring had brought plenty of rain for the new crops. Now the fields were full of ripening grain, and the woods brimming with green shade and the smell of growing things. The land was thriving.

I'd brought Tisala home after our wedding, and ridden with her all over Hurog, forests and mountains, rivers and waterfalls. I'd shown her my land, and my love for it, and I'd shown her my love for her, again and again. Everything was well: or it would have been, if not for Oreg.

"I'm going out," I said to Tisala, dropping a kiss on her nose and throwing back the covers. "I need ..." I paused, not entirely sure what I _did_ need.

"I know," said Tisala. "Go and talk to him: you'll feel better for it."

I wanted to protest that it was _Oreg_ who was feeling bad, not me: but I said nothing.

"Love you," said Tisala, and yawned. "See you at breakfast, eh?"

And, by the time I'd dressed, she was asleep again.

* * *

Oreg and I were not as closely bound, these days, as we had been before I killed him and broke the curse. He could leave Hurog, and me, without difficulty -- though he always returned. But even now that we were no longer magically connected, I could still _find_ him, just as I could _find_ anything -- or anyone -- that was lost. Finding Oreg was never difficult. And besides, I knew where he'd gone.

High on the mountain above Hurog, two vast metal doors were set into the solid rock. They were broken and buckled now, as though some great force had wrenched them apart to uncover an ancient treasure. The bas-relief dragons on the doors were twisted out of all recognition. It was nearly five years since the doors had been forced open, but nobody had come to drag away the wreckage. They were probably afraid of the magic that could warp and blacken solid bronze.

I knew the ancient treasure that had lain hidden here. I knew that Oreg had broken _out_.

He was sitting on a rocky outcrop, near where the land fell away into the valley, gazing out into the distance. His gelding was cropping the grass nearby. The horse raised its head and whickered a greeting, but Oreg didn't turn around.

All the way up the mountain trail I'd been thinking about what to say. When I'd first known Oreg, he'd always known when I was lying -- because of the curse, and because he knew me so well. Lately, I'd learned to lie by omission. But I didn't want to lie to Oreg now. And besides, he could read my dreams: had always been able to, though we seldom spoke of them.

I'd been dreaming a lot, lately.

_He raised her hand to his lips, just as he'd done that night when I'd told her how I felt, and he'd interrupted our conversation. He was even wearing the same clothes he'd worn back then, in the rainy Oranstonian winter. But this time he did not merely brush his lips over her big, scarred hand before releasing it. This time he pulled her close -- they pulled each other close -- and when he kissed her again, it was full on the mouth._

She was a head taller than he was, and she had to stoop to return his kiss. I was taller than either of them, and I strode forward, furious at them both. (Why furious?_ said that little voice in my head. _Who are you jealous of?_) I pulled them away from one another, a hand on Oreg's shoulder, a hand on Tisala's. I pushed them apart. I don't know what I'd been thinking of doing, but I found myself kissing her, ablaze with anger and desire._

But it was all wrong. I knew, in the waking world, what it felt like to kiss Tisala: the tilt of my head to hers, the feel of her muscular, sensual body against mine. This was different. This was Oreg, lithe and slender and deceptively strong, wrapping his arms around me, kissing me back as hungrily as --

"It was only a dream," I said despairingly, to Oreg's back. "I'm sorry."

Oreg turned his head, and gave me a brief, hurt look. "What are you sorry for, Ward?"

"I love Tisala," I said: then, stammering slightly, "I've never thought of you like --"

Oreg looked away. "Never while you're awake, you mean."

I did not know what to say to that, not least because I wasn't sure if it was true. Oh, I'd never looked at him and wondered what it would be like, to desire a man instead of a woman: but it was easy enough to see why anyone, man or woman, might find Oreg desirable. He'd been a pretty youth, slender and sharp-boned, with those blue Hurog eyes that were almost violet: when the curse had taken hold, it had frozen him as that youth, to all intents immortal and invulnerable. Even now, from time to time, I had to fight back a surge of rage at the thought of what those long-dead Hurog lords -- my ancestors -- might have required of Oreg. What they had done to him.

I could see the tension in Oreg's shoulders. He'd filled out, grown up, since the curse was lifted, but he was still shorter and slighter than me. Most people are. I didn't like to think that he might fear me. It was myself I was angry at, not him.

I looked around for some distraction. It didn't take me long. The gelding was saddled and harnessed for a long journey, not just a quick ride up the mountain: a bulging saddle-bag hung across its withers.

"Where are you going?" I said, trying to make it sound like a polite inquiry rather than an accusation. The feeling of wrongness, hollowness, intensified, until I thought I'd be sick.

Oreg shrugged again. "I can't stay here," he said, not looking at me.

"You've stayed --"

He stood up, and turned to face me. "I can't stay here," he said, "if you're going to have dreams like that, and ..." He paused, and a peculiar expression crossed his face.

I cocked my head, inviting him to continue: but that cool, deceptive smile of his was back, like a mask over his true feelings. It was a slave's smile, meant to pacify his master, and I hated it.

"And charge up the mountain after me -- leaving behind your nice warm bed, and your beloved wife in it -- to apologise," said Oreg lightly. "It was only a dream, Ward: but maybe it's better if I go away for a while. Don't worry about it."

I didn't think that was what he'd originally been going to say, but there was never any use in arguing with Oreg.

"Where will you go?" I said.

"Who knows?" said Oreg, still smiling. "It's a long time since I've been anywhere much except Hurog. Apart from to war with you, of course. I've a mind to see Avinhelle again, and the western sea."

He was talking about a journey of months, perhaps years. I had had a great deal of practice at hiding my feelings. I hoped he couldn't see my distress. I had killed him, to break the curse. Somehow this felt more final.

"What shall I tell everybody?" I said.

"Tell them I've gone to seek my kin," said Oreg. "There are dragons in the western mountains, they say."

Since the curse broke, Oreg had made several journeys into the mountains near Hurog in search of the dragons that he felt only as faint, far-away shimmerings of magical power. For the first time I wondered whether he took lovers, in his dragon-form. Did dragons know love, as men did? As _most_ men did, anyway. I'd never seen Oreg courting a woman, though he was gallant and amiable with Tisala and my sister Ciarra. Once I'd started thinking about it, I couldn't stop.

"There are dragons here," I said obstinately.

"Tychis," said Oreg, rolling his eyes.

"You," I said.

Oreg was silent for a long moment. "It's not for ever," he said at last. "I'll come home again."

He reached up and clasped my shoulder, briefly, as he came past me towards his horse. I put my hand over his for a moment, before he pulled away.

* * *

"Oreg's gone," I said without preamble, walking out onto the terrace where Tisala was lingering over breakfast.

"What?" she said, setting down her cup and starting to rise. "What do you mean, Ward? Gone? Gone where?"

I recounted the latter part of my conversation on the mountain, though I didn't mention what had sparked it. Tisala was fond of Oreg, but I didn't think she'd understand that Oreg could know what I'd been dreaming, much less the nature of what I'd dreamt.

Not for the first time, I'd underestimated her. She simply looked at me when I'd finished speaking, and raised her eyebrows.

"I knew he was going to leave," I said, though I hadn't truly known _why_. "I knew that I needed to go after him."

"It was in your dream, wasn't it?" said Tisala. "You woke me up, tossing and turning and mumbling."

"Mumbling?" I said, afraid that I'd been talking in my sleep.

"You said 'Oreg'," reported Tisala. "And something about your ancestors. Is that what he was upset about? Is that why you let him go?"

"He's not a slave," I said. "Not any more. He's free to do as he pleases."

Tisala frowned at me. "But why does he want to leave Hurog? This is his home."

"I didn't dream he was leaving," I said miserably, leaning back against the balustrade and rubbing my eyes. Oreg was riding south, towards Tyrfannig, skirting the steep rise of the crags. He hadn't crossed the river yet. I hadn't needed to think about _finding_ him: I'd simply known where he was.

"I dreamt ... I dreamt I was with him," I confessed.

Tisala looked at me blankly.

"Kissing him," I elaborated. Holding her gaze was one of the hardest things I've ever done. "And ... and more."

Tisala smiled, and it felt like the sun coming out. I remembered all over again why I loved her. She laughed a little at my confession: not mocking laughter, but gentle amusement.

"Sometimes, my love, I think you played the fool for too long," she said, standing. She came to my side, put her hand on my shoulder, and brushed her lips against my cheek. "I'm very much afraid that some of it may have stuck."

"What do you mean?" I said.

"Haven't you seen the way he looks at you?" said my wife. "Oreg loves you, Ward."

There were a great many responses that I wanted to make to that statement, but I was too astounded to put any of them into words. "Don't you mind?" I asked instead.

"Mind? Why should I mind? I've known it since I first met him."

"But I love you!" I protested.

"I know," said Tisala, planting another kiss on my cheek. She was standing in front of me now, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her body through her thin summer dress. "Does that mean you don't love Oreg?" she enquired.

I shook my head, more from bemusement than denial.

"If he loves me," I said, "why has he left?"

"Did you tell him --" Tisala broke off, and frowned. "No, you _didn't_ tell him about the dream," she said.

"He already knew," I told her. "He ... Sometimes, he can read my dreams." Wondering, far too late, if he'd been privy to some of the more ... _entertaining_ ... dreams I'd had about Tisala, before we were married.

Her expression told me she'd had the same thought: but she did not mention it. "So he knew what you'd dreamt."

I blushed.

"And he thinks you don't love him," said Tisala, slowly, "because you went after him, but you didn't ..." She left the sentence unfinished, and cast her eyes towards heaven. "Which way did he go?"

"South across the river," I said. "He said he was going to Avinhelle. Tisala, he wants to leave. I'm not riding after him on --"

"No, you're not," said Tisala, grinning at me. "_We_ are."

* * *

It was a fine day for riding, and under other circumstances I might have enjoyed it more. Tisala was a good companion, and Hurog a beautiful land. My brother Tosten was perfectly happy to wave us goodbye, call a few teasing remarks after us, and look after Hurog for a few days. Yet I couldn't stop thinking of Oreg: thinking of him, and of what he would say to me, when we found him.

For I was sure that we _would_ find him. "He wants to be found," Tisala had said earlier, as we forded the river.

"You make him sound like a child playing at hide-and-seek," I said.

"He's a mage," said Tisala. "So he must know that we're following him, by now."

This much was obvious. I nodded.

"And if he truly wished to escape us, he could use his magic to hide."

I wasn't sure that Oreg could hide from me. I didn't think he'd ever tried. If he was trying now, it wasn't working.

"If he wanted to hide from us," I said, "he'd turn into a dragon."

"Exactly!" said Tisala, beaming. "And he wasn't a dragon when you -- I mean," and for the first time she faltered, looking at me uncertainly, "he was a man, wasn't he? On the mountain?"

"Yes," I said. "He was a man."

That simple statement brought it all back: my dream. Me kissing a man. Me kissing _Oreg_.

"What seems worst, to you?" said Tisala, after another mile. "That you thought you'd given your heart to me, and now you find it divided? Or that you love a man, as well as a woman?"

"It's _Oreg_," I said, which was no answer at all: but Tisala smiled at me as though it was.

* * *

Perhaps Oreg did want us to find him, but he didn't stop to wait for us. The northern summer days were long, and by sunset we were fifty miles from Hurog. I could feel the distance like an ache, feel Hurog behind us, to the north-east, pulling me back. And somewhere south-west, somewhere _near_, I could feel Oreg.

We hadn't really spoken, Tisala and I, of what had brought us so far. I wasn't sure why she'd been so set on accompanying me. Perhaps she simply wanted to know what I said to Oreg, and he to me. Or perhaps she'd decided that, left to myself, I wouldn't say the right things, wouldn't bring him back.

"Would you miss him, if he left us for good?" I asked her. We were riding through woodland now, the leaves a dark canopy overhead. In the dusk, pale shadows seemed to flit between the trees. I didn't know if they were ghosts, or tree-spirits, or simply tricks of the light.

"I'd miss him," said Tisala. "Not as much as you would: but I like him."

"In my dream," I said, as I'd thought of saying all afternoon, "he was kissing you. You were kissing him."

I expected Tisala to laugh again, or perhaps to take offence. Instead, she gave me a long, thoughtful look. Was she blushing? In the dim light, I could not be sure.

"Let's walk for a little while," she said at last: and before I could say anything, she'd brought Feather to a halt and dismounted.

It would do the horses good to walk for a while, and I knew that Oreg was close, and would likely stop for the night soon. I slid off Pansy's back and stood for a moment, stretching the stiffness out of my spine.

Tisala stepped up to me, very close, and I put my arms around her.

"I love you, Ward," she said; and before I could answer her with an avowal of my own, she kissed me.

Tisala is a tall woman, and she didn't have to stretch too much to pull my mouth down to hers. She tasted of the berries we'd picked and eaten, earlier that afternoon, and of herself. If I'd had any doubts about my love for her (which I hadn't) that embrace banished them. The way she pressed against me, the swell of her breasts under her thin shirt, the clean musky smell of her sweat, all made my blood surge and race in my veins.

"Let's --" I murmured against her ear, quite ready to lay her down on the soft, leaf-strewn earth and make love to her as the evening settled around us. But just then Pansy's ears went back, and Feather reared up, nearly dragging the reins from Tisala's hand.

The wood seemed much darker, and full of half-heard whisperings and shifting shadows. My body was still tingling from Tisala's embrace, and I felt dizzy with desire. I shook my head to clear it, but the dizziness remained.

"Dragon," I breathed.

Tisala's mouth set in a hard line for a moment: then she grinned. "Oreg," she said.

I shook my head. I could _find_ Oreg: he was not a mile from us, away to the north where a pinnacle of rock rose above the tree-tops. There was magic flowing all around him. I could feel it up and down my spine, a peculiarly intimate sensation as though someone's hand was touching my bare skin. Pansy could feel it too, and he wasn't happy.

"He's used to Oreg," I said to Tisala. "It's something else."

We mounted the nervous horses, and persuaded them on through the wood, towards the source of their fears: not an easy task, and one that took most of my attention. I was grateful for that. I didn't want to think about Oreg in danger, Oreg attacked.

The trees thinned as we approached the rocky spire. Dimly, in the dusk, I could see something moving, something huge and dark.

"Let's leave the horses," I said, as soft as I could, to Tisala. "They'll panic."

We left them standing with their reins hanging loose, in case they needed to flee. Feather whickered in protest, and showed me the whites of her eyes. Pansy was made of sterner stuff, but he edged away from the clearing, into the sheltering gloom of the wood. Tisala took my hand as we left them behind, and I was glad of it.

I had only ever seen two dragons: Oreg himself, and Tychis, my half-brother, who had not yet reached his full growth. The creature that faced Oreg across the clearing was much larger than Tychis. Even in the grey summer twilight, its scales -- coppery-gold along its dorsal spines, shading to an improbable turquoise on the soft leather of its wings -- seemed to glow. Its eyes were gold, too, and I would have sworn that they were luminescing in the dim light, like Oreg's eyes when he was angry. It spread its wings like a mantling hawk, and thrust its head towards Oreg.

Oreg in dragon form was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, much more beautiful than the newcomer. He seemed a creature made from dusk, the myriad purples of his skin soft as velvet in the gathering dark. If he was concerned by the strange dragon's belligerence, I could see no sign of it. He peered at us out of one great violet eye, and hissed out a long breath. If he'd been human, it would have been a sigh.

I was sure that the two dragons were speaking to one another. Magic was pouring off them, like water from a whale's back as he surfaces. The sensual, almost erotic charge of it made my skin prickle. But I could not hear what they were saying: their words made no sound.

Tisala and I had halted, hand in hand, at the edge of the clearing. Neither of us said anything, but we were both staring in wonderment at the silent pair before us. Now the strange dragon seemed to notice us for the first time. Its head swung towards us like a great slow hammer, finally stopping when it was almost close enough to touch. The dragon looked at me -- I could have drowned in that eye -- and hissed like a huge cat, or like a snake. When its mouth opened I saw double rows of knife-sharp, bone-white teeth.

Fast as thought, Oreg's head came round. He did not make any sound, but I could see his magic, like a cool violet glow, flickering over the bronze scales. Now Oreg's wings were half-open, too, and his dorsal spines were fully extended.

I might have been afraid: but this was _Oreg._

He spoke, or they spoke: I could feel it, though I heard nothing. And then the clearing was full of beating wings, purple and turquoise and gold. I reeled back, still holding tightly to Tisala's hand. Her mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear her over the gale of noise. There was a twist of fear around my heart. Oreg had found his own kind, and he was leaving.

But it was only the strange dragon who leapt up into the violet sky, the last of the sun catching its wings and striking bright, blue-green fire from the gleaming scales on its back. I could not help but stare after it, watching as it flew north towards the mountains. The clearing seemed very dark when I brought my gaze back to it. I could scarcely see the wavering rush of movement as Oreg the dragon coalesced into Oreg the man.

Oreg snapped his fingers above his head to make a mage-light. The cool blue glow lit the whole clearing. He looked at me, and then at Tisala.

"A nice evening for a ride in the woods," he said. "Perhaps you'd like to share my fire?"

"You don't _have_ a fire," said Tisala: but by the time she'd finished speaking, Oreg had snapped his fingers again, and a neat pile of tinder and dry wood, ringed with stones from the stream, had flared into life. I was impressed.

Oreg smirked at Tisala, and made her a little bow. "My lady?"

"Oreg," she said, smiling. "It's good to see you. And I'm sure the horses will think so too, assuming they aren't halfway to Estian."

Oreg lifted his hands a little. "I wasn't expecting company," he said.

There was a small, uncertain silence. I let it stretch. Years of playing the fool had taught me to wait. People sometimes said more than they meant, if you waited.

"I'd better see if I can catch them," said Tisala pragmatically. "No, Ward, they're no trouble." And before I could make any protest, she was walking towards the edge of the wood, her shirt a white blur in the gloom.

Oreg and I looked at one another for a long moment.

"I hadn't expected _both_ of you," said Oreg at last.

"I wasn't going to come after you," I said. "I didn't think you'd want me to."

Oreg looked away.

"I'm not sure I did," he admitted. "But it's good to see you, Ward."

I felt like a tongue-tied boy. But Tisala, wise woman, had absented herself for a reason -- to give us these few moments alone together. I'd ridden all day, ridden towards Oreg, with this moment in mind. It didn't matter if Oreg mocked me, or went quiet. I had to tell him how I felt.

Most Shavigmen would have died rather than speak of love, but it was five years since my father's death, and I wasn't afraid. I wasn't.

"Oreg," I said, and waited until he met my eyes. "I do love you."

"I know," he said, nearly inaudibly.

"You don't sound very happy about it," I said.

"I know you love me, Ward," said Oreg. He sounded tired. "You've said so before. But do you love me the way I love you?"

_You never said anything_, I wanted to protest: but I didn't want to argue with Oreg, not now. Instead, I stepped forward, and put my hands on his shoulders, and leant in to kiss him.

Oreg pulled away. His hands were balled into fists. "You don't know what you're doing," he said desperately.

"If you mean the practical side," I said, "I'm willing to learn."

Oreg was staring at me; his back was to the fire, and his eyes were glowing in the deepening gloom.

"Since Tisala is here," he observed, "I assume you've told her everything."

"Tisala is smarter than me," I said, smiling. "Possibly smarter than you, too."

Oreg snorted. "So what is this?" he said. "Have you convinced yourself you have to play out the dream, to be rid of it? Or do you imagine, do you think I've cast some spell on you?" He kept his voice down, but I could see him shaking. "Or is this your way of looking after me, like any other of your strays and casualties?"

"I don't know what it is," I said. "I want to find out."

This time he didn't pull away when I stepped towards him. My blood was surging again as if he were doing magic, but I didn't think he was.

Kissing him was just like it had been in my dream -- passionate and strange, utterly different and yet completely right -- but it was not nearly enough. I wanted more, though I didn't know _what_ I wanted: only Oreg against me, slender but surprisingly strong, his arms around my back, his body pressed against me from chest to thigh. It was like holding Tisala: yet it was _nothing_ like holding her. I could feel that he was as aroused as me, and that realisation sent a wicked thrill through my whole body. I wanted to push him down and lie on top of him; I wanted to feel those strong, clever hands on my skin, without my threadbare shirt getting in the way. I wanted ... I wanted to carry on kissing him. It felt like swordplay, or a wrestling match. Oreg's teeth (don't think of the dragon) were sharp, and he bit me. My dragon. I bit back.

It seemed like an age before I raised my head from the kiss. Tisala was standing by the fire, watching us with a lopsided smile.

I didn't dare let go of Oreg: I was afraid he would run away, or simply vanish into the night air. I held out my hand entreatingly, and Tisala came to my side. Oreg was watching her, his eyes very wide and dark. She smiled at him, and kissed his cheek, and he sighed.

I could feel the tension in Oreg's whole body, and feel that tension subtly change as Tisala wrapped an arm around each of us. I only needed to turn my head to kiss her, so I did. Oreg's breath was warm against my neck, and it made me shiver.

"Ward," murmured Tisala, tilting her head back to look at me, "Shouldn't you fetch water, before we make camp for the night?"

I gave her an exasperated look. "What, now?"

"Please?" said Tisala, and I realised that she wanted to be alone with Oreg. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but Oreg, I thought, was not wholly comfortable with the idea: his arms tightened around me.

But if Tisala had something to say to him, I wanted her to be heard: and besides (I thought, amused) it served him right, after running away, to be given a stern telling-off.

"There's a stream over there," said Oreg, pointing towards the tall, dark spire of rock. "And a pool, round the other side."

I kissed his forehead, and Tisala's, and left them standing there together, holding one another awkwardly, as I headed for the saddle-bags. It was hard not to look back, but I forced myself to focus on my task, ignoring the murmur of her voice, the sharp note in his. When I heard her soft laughter, I bit my lip.

The stream was fresh and clear, and I could see the first stars reflected in the still waters of the pool by the rock. I washed my face, and squatted to fill the two water-skins. Whatever was happening couldn't happen without Tisala, without all three of us welcoming it and striving towards it. I didn't know what _was_ happening: but I knew that I wanted it more than anything.

I heard the murmur of voices as I stood up. Tisala and Oreg were coming towards me, Oreg's mage-light -- softer and rosier now, more like firelight -- hovering above them like a small, warm star. Its light showed me Tisala's smile, and Oreg's. Whatever she'd said to him had kept him here with us.

"I'm hot," announced Tisala. She was blushing slightly. "And this is a good place to bathe. You too, Ward, you smell of horse."

"I shan't ask what I smell like," said Oreg.

Tisala leaned closer to him and sniffed. "Hot metal," she pronounced. "And riding all day."

I had seen both of them naked before, but never like this. Tisala was shy, and turned her back on Oreg as she stripped off her clothes. His eyes lingered on the sweet curve of her spine, until he caught me watching him: then he raised an eyebrow at me and carried on unfastening his shirt. I wanted to sit and watch them both, and from his expression Oreg knew it. He did not look at me again as I undressed.

We were all swift to immerse ourselves in the cool, concealing water. There was stone underfoot, slick with weed, and when Tisala nudged me playfully I lost my balance and ended up sitting in the shallow water, laughing as they laughed at me.

Oreg ducked his head under the water, and then came to sit at my right, hair streaming. The whole side of my body began to tingle with his proximity. I touched his arm and he leant in willingly, eyes half-lidded, for my kiss. Tisala pressed up against my back, all warm and pliant, and as soon as my mouth left Oreg's she'd twisted around to kiss me too. I could taste both of them on my lips, and it was making me dizzy and shivery with desire.

"Let's go back to the fire," said Oreg. "To the light." And before I could protest, or kiss him again, he'd slid out of my embrace, out of the pool. He stood still for a moment, looking back at us both: then, scooping up his clothes, he walked naked towards the firelight.

I wrapped my arms around Tisala, and kissed her, soft and gentle. "We don't have to ... to do anything," I murmured. "We won't do anything you don't want."

"I know," said Tisala. "But oh, Ward, the look on your face when you kissed him! The look on his! How could I not want that, for both of you?"

It was more than I could have hoped for, even if I'd ever let myself think about this. "But what do _you_ want?" I said helplessly.

Tisala grinned at me, and twisted out of my arms. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I'm confident that I'll get it."

Oreg had spread our blankets and bedrolls by the fire: he was stretched out on his stomach, staring into the flames. I looked at the smooth, muscled plane of his back, the paler skin of his buttocks, and was stricken all over again by doubt.

"I didn't ... I would never want anything you wouldn't freely give me," said Oreg rather diffidently, looking over his shoulder at us. "Either of you. We can just ..."

Tisala dropped to her knees next to him. "Oreg," she said fondly, "we're equal here, the three of us. None of us have to do anything." Then, with a ripple of laughter in her voice, "but all of us _want_ to." And she leant down, and kissed him.

No man could have stood there, watching the two people he loved most in the world as they kissed, and not wanted to be a part of it. I laid myself down at Oreg's side, running my hand down his spine to his narrow waist: kissed Tisala's hand where it rested on his cheek, and then kissed the corner of his mouth. Oreg made a wordless noise and rolled over, pulling me into the kiss. I'd never kissed two people at the same time before. It was maddeningly addictive.

The three of us lay there on the blankets, touching and kissing, for what felt like hours. Oh, there were awkward moments, and times when I did not know what to do, how to move, who to touch next: but Tisala, though surely she was as much at a loss as myself, hardly faltered. She laughed, soft and amazed, when Oreg pressed her against me and kissed her neck, and I could not resist kissing her again. And Oreg, oh, arching up under my hands as I caressed him. I ached with wanting them both.

My hand brushed against Oreg's cock as he moved, and I froze. He pulled away, not looking at me. It seemed horribly unfair that he should have to be careful of my feelings. I touched him again, deliberately, wrapping my fingers round him, and the lost, enraptured look on his face, the way he sighed my name and leaned back bonelessly against Tisala, made me forget the sheer _difference_ of touching another man, and think instead of what it was to touch Oreg, to make him feel thus.

Tisala was a little shyer with Oreg, but she had never been anything but wholehearted in bed with me, and soon enough she was caressing me too, and moaning as I returned the favour. We twisted around one another, unconcerned now with who was being kissed, stroked, touched. Tisala's skin was creamy-gold in the firelight, and Oreg's was nearly as pale, save for his arms and his shoulders where he'd been in the sun. His body was quite different to mine: he was narrower at the shoulders and chest than I, his torso almost hairless, and though I could feel the strength in his embrace there was little outward sign of the sinew and muscle beneath his skin.

Some things, at least, were the same. His cock was solid and heavy, pushing into my hand: his nipples were peaked from my kisses, and Tisala's. He was breathing heavily against my chest, trailing kisses and bites across my scarred ribs, and the pink, shiny line on my stomach where Jakoven's sword had caught me, last winter. Then he moved lower, and his mouth was on me.

"Gods!" I choked out, and my hand clenched on Tisala's hip. She didn't seem to mind. She was staring at Oreg, her mouth slightly open, breathing hard.

Oreg glanced up, and I could feel his mouth stretch, smiling, against my cock. It took all my self-control not to thrust up into that hot, clever mouth, not to hold his head still and take my pleasure. All that stopped me was the thought that he'd probably had to suffer that, and worse, when he was slave to my ancestors.

Oh, but he was good. I'd had this from a whore in Tyrfannig, once, and it had felt nothing like this. Nothing.

Tisala kissed me, so hard that I could scarcely breathe, and leaned her forehead against mine while I gulped air. "I want to do that to you," she murmured: and the sound of her voice -- not to mention the image her words evoked -- was too much. I cried out, and tried to pull away from Oreg, but he held me still and drank me down.

I lay there, quite unable to move, and watched my wife and my dearest friend kissing again. Thought of her tasting _me_, in his mouth. Even now, scant minutes after he'd brought me to that bliss, watching them made my blood surge, made me want more. I didn't know what Tisala wanted, though. Would she let Oreg ...? I examined my heart for jealousy, but found none.

Now they were both kissing me. I steeled myself for Oreg's kiss, but after all the taste was nothing like I'd thought it might be. A little salty, a little bitter. His teeth were sharp against my lip. I put my arm around his waist and pulled him closer, and he pressed against me, still hard.

Now I was torn, because Tisala was writhing against me, one leg thrown over my thigh, and Oreg was gasping against my mouth, his dark hair sticking to my sweaty skin. I wanted to give them both everything -- my body, astoundingly, was already showing unmistakeable signs of enthusiasm -- but I didn't want to choose.

"Let me watch the two of you," said Oreg huskily, as though he'd read my mind (though he'd always said he couldn't do that). "I want to see your face, Tisala, when ... when Ward's inside you."

Even in the red-gold firelight, I could see that Tisala was blushing, but she grinned at Oreg with such good-natured wickedness that I couldn't help laughing.

"My pleasure, Oreg," I said. "Again."

"_Mine_," insisted Tisala, pulling me on top of her. For a moment I resisted, wondering if Oreg would take that as a warning, a claim: but he rolled over to lie on his side, head propped on a hand, and gestured grandly for us to continue.

I had made love to Tisala almost every night (not to mention mornings and afternoons) since our wedding, but never before an audience. It was hard to mind, though, when the audience was taking Tisala's scarred hand in his own, bringing it to his lips, sucking lewdly and noisily at her fingertips so that she laughed, and gasped, and rocked her hips welcomingly up against me.

I didn't think I would come again, not so soon, but nevertheless it felt wonderful to bury myself in Tisala, to make her cry out, gasp my name, as she opened to me. I kissed her throat, her breasts, her collarbones: encountered Oreg's hand caressing her neck, and swiped my tongue across his knuckles, and felt a surge of triumph at the sound of his moan.

All too soon, Tisala was arching up against me, her heel pressing against the back of my thigh as she pulled me further in, crying out wordlessly. I felt the flutter and squeeze of her climax all around me, and the race of her pulse. Just for this moment, it was only the two of us: I held her close, and stroked her hair, and said, "I love you."

I was still hard, and so was Oreg. I wondered if I could do to him as he'd done to me: was surprised to find that I _wanted_ to. I turned my head and found him staring at me, his eyes more vividly violet than should have been possible in the firelight.

"Ward," he said, and "please."

I rolled away from Tisala, onto my back. "Tell me what you want, Oreg," I said, and could not help the hitch of nervousness in my voice. "I'll do whatever you want."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "And what do _you_ want?"

I shook my head a little. "I don't want to ... to take advantage. I can imagine what --"

Oreg laughed out loud.

"If you can't tell the difference between taking and giving, Ward," he said, "you're a bigger fool than you ever pretended to be."

A heartbeat later he was sprawled on top of me. It felt wonderful: the weight of him, the rush of his breath against my mouth, the slide of his cock against my own. I canted my hips against him, enjoying the way his breath caught.

"Very well, since you ask so nicely," murmured Oreg. "I'll tell you what I want."

"Mmm," I said, sliding my hands down his back.

Oreg writhed against me until his mouth was right next to my ear, which he licked. "What I want ..." he whispered, and licked my earlobe again. "... is to feel you ..." Lick. "... inside me."

I couldn't say anything. Last time I'd lost the power of speech, it had been through pain and injury. This time it was a rush of pleasure, anticipation, sheer lust, so overwhelming that I thought I might faint.

Oreg said nothing more, but I could feel him tense, ready to pull away. I held onto him: had to swallow twice before I could say, "Yes."

Oreg pulled back enough to look me in the eye. His smile was sharper than I'd ever seen it. "Ward," he said: just that, but there was so much in his voice that I wanted to laugh, or cry, or shout with exultation.

I was shaking, and I could scarcely move: but Tisala was lying there, smiling at me, clasping my hand against her heart, and Oreg was kissing me, sweet and paradoxically chaste, on the lips. I had never felt so loved.

I heard Oreg spit, and then his wet hand was wrapping around my cock, stroking me hard. He was kneeling above me now, the firelight gilding his skin. His own cock twitched, and I reached for him, but he twisted away.

"Too much," said Oreg thickly: and then, oh, then, I could feel him against the head of my cock: could feel the muscle there, resisting and then not resisting. Could feel myself penetrating him, slow and not exactly easy. Oreg's mouth was open, and he was breathing shallowly: he held my gaze, frowning slightly. I could feel the muscles in his thighs quivering, where he was straddling me.

"I don't want to hurt you," I protested. "I --"

But Oreg laid his hand over my mouth. I could taste the salt sweat on his palm. He bit his lip, hard: then somehow _opened_, and rocked back, and I was suddenly all the way inside him.

I could not hold back my own cry. Oreg's came like an echo of it: Tisala's, beside me, like another. My hands were gripping Oreg's hips, and I was afraid I'd leave bruises. But he was leaning back, grinning at me, oh gods so tight around me. Nothing like a woman: everything like himself.

I felt that shimmery, sparking sensation again, as though Oreg were doing magic, though I didn't think there was a single part of him that wasn't wholly focussed on the way our bodies were moving together. That was magic enough, for now. He rose up on his knees, and let himself sink back down slowly. I groaned.

Tisala leaned over and kissed me, her hand flat on my chest. I wanted to kiss Oreg too, but I wasn't sure it was possible in this position, but ... I realised I was already looking forward to the next time the three of us did this. I wondered what it would be like, to have Oreg spread out beneath me as Tisala had been. I wondered what it felt like, for him: and that thought made me shiver, and thrust up into him, hard.

Oreg made a wordless noise. His back was arched, and he was poised above me, taut and strong and graceful, his hands splayed on my thighs. Now his head went back, and he spread his knees wide, taking me deeper. I'm not a small man in any respect, and I would have thought it would hurt: but there was nothing of pain in his expression now, only ecstasy.

I wanted to run my tongue up around the arc of his chest. Tisala must have been thinking the same, because she did it. I looked at the two of them -- her dark, curly hair against his pale skin, her thumb against the coppery round of his nipple -- and could not resist for another moment.

Oreg was moaning as I held him close and thrust up into him again and again. He tried to say something, but it was lost in a gasp: then, raggedly, "Ward, oh, touch me. Please. _Please_."

I would have given him anything, anything at all: but I didn't need to, because Tisala put her hand on him, just as she had with me. The moment she touched him I felt his body tightening around me, and his pulse hammering: and then he was spilling all over my belly, and the wet heat was enough to draw my second climax from me.

We lay there kissing and panting, holding onto one another, until Oreg had stopped shivering and I could muster the strength to sit up. The moon was rising, round and yellow and warm, and the fire had died to red embers.

None of us said anything of what'd happened, what we'd done. It was all too new, and too huge a thing, to talk about. But Tisala was curled against me, smiling, drawing spirals with her finger on my chest; and Oreg was lying pressed against my side, the weight of his head numbing my shoulder, pushing his long fingers through Tisala's tangled hair as though she were a cat, and could purr. The sky was a deep, deep blue, dappled with stars. A dark shape -- surely some night bird -- passed overhead.

"That dragon ..." I said, remembering, and did not know how to ask the rest. "You were speaking to it, weren't you?"

Oreg was silent a moment. I could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart everywhere that we touched. I spread my hand across his ribs, marvelling at the strangeness of it. Remembering him arching above me in the firelight, sweaty hair sticking to his neck, crying out: remembering the ancient dragon made of twilight and magic. My dragon: my lover.

"She's lonely," said Oreg at last. "She wanted ... company."

"She didn't look very friendly," said Tisala. "You sent her away, didn't you?"

Oreg smiled. I didn't think I had ever seen him look so completely, peacefully happy. "I told her there was nothing for her here," he said. "I told her that you -- the two of you -- were mine."

"And what about you?" I said, not wanting to come straight out and ask if _he'd_ wanted company, before ... before tonight. If, after all that'd happened, he was going to leave us, and take his dragon form again.

Oreg's smile twitched against my skin. I knew he'd chosen to misunderstand me: but then, we'd understood one another well enough this evening.

"Me?" said Oreg. "Oh, I'm yours."

\- end -

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **elsandry** for **Yuletide 2005**. I'd never read the Hurog books until her request piqued my interest!


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